


Morning After

by SpookshowBabyx



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookshowBabyx/pseuds/SpookshowBabyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Last night finally coming back to her with memories far more pleasant than she is accustomed to with 'morning afters'... Henry stays over at Emma's as Regina's last resort. </p><p>Multi-character fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This is much fluffier than my usual writing, but was one of the first fictions I've ever written so I used it more to feel out the characters/ process. Hopefully, it's still a fun read :)

As soft yellow light filters through the partially drawn blinds- dappling her pillow before finally playing patterns over her hair- Emma begrudgingly opens one eye to squint at the red digits displayed on the alarm clock beside her. It is still what she considers much too early to traipse downstairs, despite the faint noises coming from below indicating her housemate thinks otherwise. She has kicked the paisley-print throw Mary Margaret bestowed on her what seems like forever ago down to her hips whilst asleep and reaches down lazily now to engulf herself fully. The hand traveling down to perform this task halts abruptly when it discovers something warm draped over her waist.

_... Oh, shit..._

Keeping as still as possible- no mean feat when her entire being is screaming at her to run, run, run, get the hell out- she lifts her head just enough to let stormy eyes travel down her torso with slow trepidation. Her fears are quickly confirmed; the warm thing is indeed a hand, and, with her shitty luck, it's most probably attached to a body.

_For god's sake, Swan, you're the damn Sheriff, you can't just hop into bed with people in this backwards town! Especially ones with such... small... hands...?_

Continuing to keep her body immobile, she turns her head as far as possible and peeks behind her. A dark mop of chestnut hair comes into view; the owner's face hidden to her behind the white slope of her shoulder. Inwardly dueling between groaning and grinning, the latter lucks out and she swiftly flips herself around to face her bed-mate. The movement is violent and causes the bedsprings to screech painfully and the mattress to give her an angry rebound bounce.

"Morning!"

Henry grins widely, a small dribble of dried toothpaste clinging to the side of his mouth. Licking a finger and sleepily rubbing it off, Emma raises an eyebrow at his term of phrase. As far as she's concerned, morning isn't for at least another hour.

"And what exactly was wrong with _your_ bed?"

She nods her jaw in the direction of the far corner where a small camper mat and sleeping bag lie abandoned; last night finally coming back to her with memories far more pleasant than she is accustomed to with 'morning afters'.

"You weren't in it."

Henry had meant it as a compliment, so his brows furrow when his words are met with loud, sleepily uninhibited laughter. Emma waits for her hysterics to die down before rolling onto her back and smiling at the ceiling with her eyes closed.

"Oh, kid, promise me you won't say that again to anyone else for at least twenty years... actually make that fifty."

He looks over at her curiously, but Emma provides no further explanation. In fact, with the unusually serene expression and the light intakes of breath she almost looks...

"Hey! you fell asleep!"

"Ow!"

Her eyes fly open in surprise as he pokes her in the ribs. He laughs quietly; amused by her behavior. Regina is an 'up-at-the-crack-of-dawn-no-need-for-an-alarm-clock' kind of woman, and seeing Emma behave so groggily intrigues him. He had previously believed all adults just got up at the crack of dawn simply because they were _supposed_ to. His amusement falters somewhat when he realizes-bruised ribs or not- the blonde's eyes are closed once again, her mouth slightly open.

"Emma"

"whu..?"

"What do you want to do today?"

His excitement is so great it's tangible. The previous evening he and Regina had been eating an early dinner, trying to ignore the continuous ringing of the telephone. The incident at the mine shafts had caused quite a stir, and, as the Mayor of a town where things were once more happening hard and fast, his mother had been in high demand. After a series of angry conversations and stating for what seemed like the hundredth time that she simply _couldn't_ attend an emergency meeting that evening  _or_  tomorrow due to it being a weekend and having no one to care for Henry, Regina had furiously relented and snatched up the phone; scrolling through her contact history.

The conversation had been short- Regina's answers curt, snide and cutting- but, half an hour later he was being dropped off outside Mary Margaret's apartment under strict orders of 'no sugar, brush your teeth, bed by eight, home in plenty of time for dinner'.

This now means a whole day with Emma without having to sneak around, and Henry plans on making it a good one.

Emma, it seems, does not _do_ excitement at this hour. After playing dead for ten seconds she can no longer ignore the soft tugging at her hair or tickling breath on her face so she opts for a new method. Grabbing the blanket, she pulls it up over them both and awkwardly puts an arm around the small brunet and closes her eyes.

"Twenty more minutes, kid..."

"I thought I heard voices."

Henry pokes his head out from under the slightly suffocating throw and grins at Mary Margaret who has appeared in the doorway. She smiles back at him, before making her way over to the bed and regarding the blanketed heap in the middle of the mattress with a sigh; hands on her hips.

"Henry's right; enough lazing around, Emma."

The blonde navigates a hand out from under the throw with the intent of flipping her housemate the bird, but remembers Henry in just enough time to turn the gesture into a peculiar little wave. Rolling her eyes dramatically at Henry, Mary Margaret seizes the bottom of the blanket and yanks it forcefully off the blonde who flails around blindly for a second before slumping back and admitting defeat. Henry giggles delightedly at the scene the grown women are making; returning an amused high five from Mary Margaret before she slaps Emma lightly on the thigh and heads downstairs, yelling behind her that their hot chocolates will be stone cold. Emma yawns and stretches cattily before grinning up at Henry.

"Breakfast?"


	2. Breakfast

Henry sits at the large, maple dining table centered in Mary Margaret's living room; swinging his legs merrily half an inch off the floor. Hot chocolate clutched in both small hands, he licks appreciatively at the cinnamon dusted cream, observing Emma curiously as she goes- somewhat chaotically- about preparing him breakfast.

With a lot of banging, and scraping, she ends up slathering a piece of slightly burnt toast with Mary Margaret's thick, homemade raspberry jam; cutting the bread into small triangles and attempting to fan them out pleasingly on the plate. Vaguely recalling a multitude if sitcoms watched alone depicting 'the happy American family' aesthetic, she carefully trims the crusts from the triangles to reveal soft white edges. She places the plate in front of Henry, feeling awkward and unsure as to the adequacy of her attempt at breakfast, but breaks into a grateful grin when he smiles up at her and takes an enormous bite; spilling red goop back onto the plate.

"Aim for your mouth, kid."

Emma watches him amiably; pajama-clad rear resting against the kitchen counter, hot chocolate to her side, and a large jar of Nutella in hand. Retrieving a spoon from the drying rack behind her, she digs into the soft chocolate and savors the heavily laden spoon absentmindedly in her mouth.

Henry pulls out his book and begins chatting away at a hundred words a minute while she tries to keep up; nodding in what she hopes are the right places. He gets to a part where David Nolan, aka: Prince Charming- and, in Henry's mind; her father- is in fact not Prince Charming at all but his twin brother... Or something like that... When she attempts to tell the kid to slow down the crazy. Unfortunately, she finds this is no easy task with a mouthful of chocolate.

When she continues to look confused, Henry rolls his eyes at her with all the wisdom his ten years can muster and flicks back a few pages to start over again. Pointing at the pictures and using a tone startlingly reminiscent of Regina, he proceeds to- pointedly slowly- retell the story to her as if she were painfully dimwitted, making Emma feel all of about five.

In response, she sticks her decidedly brown tongue out at him making him giggle.

As the two of them commence a giddy battle of face pulling- something Emma is inwardly surprised she's not only going along with, but winning- Mary Margaret trots down the stairs with a fluffy white towel for Henry to use.

"You two better hope the wind doesn't change, or you'll be stuck like that."

Henry claps a hand over his mouth in alarm, while Emma pulls an exceptionally obscure face at her housemate.

"Of course, that may well be an improvement in your case!"

Emma rolls her eyes and returns a newly loaded spoon to her mouth, winking at Henry. Mary Margaret busies herself making oatmeal, letting the chatter that starts again wash over her, smiling.

"So, how about we pack up some juice and head to the woods? I'll show you how to rig up a swing if we can find a branch low enough, since the castle's damaged?"

Henry's eyes light up with an almost feverish intensity and he wolfs down the remaining toast so rapidly he forgets to chew; ending up coughing breadcrumbs all over the table. Barely missing a beat, Mary Margaret whisks round, hands him a tissue, before deftly plucking the Nutella jar from Emma's unsuspecting hand and forcing the bowl of oatmeal the blonde had believed- and hoped- was for her housemate in its place.

The look Emma gives the oatmeal is perfectly replicated by the look Mary Margaret gives the abused chocolate spread- both women wrinkling their noses in disgust- and Henry wishes more than anything to have a mirror at this precise moment as he doesn't believe even Emma could argue the eery similarity in their expressions. Instead, he picks up the towel the teacher has brought down for him and makes a move to head up for a shower. His actions are thwarted, however, as a waterfall of blonde curls fly past him and Emma bounds up the stairs laughing; the bowl of oatmeal conveniently forgotten.

"Race you!"

Henry whoops loudly, attempting in vein to catch up, and ends up standing at the top of the open plan stairs, breathing rapidly. He steals a look down over the railings at Mary Margaret who shakes her head despairingly; both amused and bewildered.

"It's like having  _two_  kids running round..."

She looks up at Henry and smiles kindly.

"You give her five minutes, Henry, and then you have full permission to turn the hot water on in the kitchen."

She winks at him and begins packing a cool bag with juice, cookies and a thermos of iced coffee.


	3. Woods

"Watch this!"

Henry mimes spitting into each of his small hands, before rubbing them together dramatically and springing forwards into a shaky, lopsided attempt at a handstand. Mary Margaret claps indulgently; sat on the neat cloth she had packed at the bottom of the picnic bag earlier that morning. After some coaxing from Emma and cheerful agreement on Henry's behalf she had accompanied them on their little excursion into the woods; watching nervously as her housemate had climbed her way up into a gnarled tree to secure the makeshift swing as promised, and unpacking the drinks and food before sitting to watch Henry play.

"Were you watching?"

"I don't know, kid, you'd better do another one to make sure..."

Emma stands casually against the tree, watching Henry with amusement. He complies eagerly; reaching his arms high into the air and jumping a few times- as if in preparation- before springing forth and kicking wildly upwards. Emma moves quickly behind him and grabs a hold of both skinny ankles- yelping as one wavering foot catches her in the ribs- and hoists him up into a much straighter version of the trick.

"Hey, push with your arms, don't make me do all the work!"

She lets go after a few seconds of bracing him in position and he falls into a laughing heap on the soft grass.

"Like you can do better!"

She grins at him sassily before deftly kicking her legs up and holding herself up in a flawlessly perpendicular line. Henry regards her with wide-eyed awe, openly impressed, before pushing playfully at her stomach- pale skin exposed in her current position- to send her toppling over onto her ass with an unceremonious thump.

"So we're playing dirty now?"

She growls, dusting herself off before making as if to pounce on him. Henry laughs and runs quickly back to the safety of the picnic blanket and his teacher's watchful eye. Mary Margaret hands him a juice box, chuckling, and looks up at her Emma with mocked sternness.

"Now, Emma, no one likes a show off..."

"Good thing that wasn't showing off then... If I was showing off, I would do something like  _this._ "

She falls easily into a backbend, holding the bridged position for just a moment, before gracefully flipping herself back upright with a push from her long legs; the whole display seeming almost lazy in its effortlessness.

"Wow!"

Henry's mouth falls open, his tongue slightly purple from the juice. Emma grins nonchalantly, but the blush at her cheeks betrays the fact she's privately quite pleased with herself.

_Let Regina try a trick like that..._

She takes a seat next to him- jabbing a straw into her own juice box- and straightens his scarf which has become dislodged in his attempts to amaze them with his wicked acrobatics. Mary Margaret cuts them both a piece of the banana loaf she had been hoping for a chance to finish off, and they eat companionably; Henry explaining- for what he feels is the hundredth time- his theory on Ruby being Little Red Riding Hood. Emma rolls her eyes at her housemate who regards Henry with amused interest.

"So if Ruby's Red Riding Hood and I'm Snow White, who are you saying Emma is? Goldilocks? Rapunzel?"

At this, Emma raises an eyebrow at the kid; realizing this is something they haven't discussed with Mary Margaret present. She considers abruptly changing the subject for a second, but Henry is beaming at the chance to get stuck into his theory regarding the two women, so instead she just begins nervously plaiting a strand of hair in awkward habit.

"Your daughter!"

"My-"

"Well, Snow White's daughter..."

He says it like it's the most logical thing in the world; grinning away happily. Mary Margaret laughs- a little shrilly- regarding Emma, who suddenly appears so absorbed in her hair that her expression suggests plaiting falls on a similar plane as quantum physics.

"She's the daughter of Snow White- you- and Prince Charming- Mr Nolan- but you had to put her in a magical tree and now no one can remember who they are! See-"

He begins to wrestle the book out of the picnic bag- having earlier insisted they bring it with them- when a flurry of paper tissues escape and get caught in the light wind. Henry chases after them quickly, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

"Sorry about that... Kid's got quite an imagination."

"So he should! It's completely normal for a ten year old boy... Maybe a little less regular to suggest I had an affair with a recent coma patient and birthed a child- incidentally my own age- and misplaced her in a piece of shrubbery..."

"Just a little bit..."

The schoolteacher cocks her head to the side and observes her housemate quietly for a moment. She wants to wrap up the uncomfortable atmosphere, but is by now well aware that Emma's tolerance for emotional insight is depressingly low. She continues cautiously; careful to keep her tone light and casual, but placing a friendly hand softly on the boot stretched out by her side.

"Well, I can't speak for Snow White, or Prince Charming, and _definitely_ not for David Nolan, but, if I had a daughter- preferably not my own age- well, I would be proud if they turned out like you... Maybe not arrested quite as many times, or as handy with heavy chainsaw-esque machinery I will hastily point out..."

She hopes for a laugh at that, but Emma is intently watching the space behind Mary Margaret's head, shimmering eyes determinedly unblinking. The latter moves her hand from the toe of the blonde's boot to firmly squeeze her ankle.

"What I mean is, whoever you're supposed to be and I'm supposed to be; I'm glad you decided to stay. I guess.. I guess I _do_ think of you as family..."

Emma makes an odd noise in her throat but otherwise remains silent and Mary Margaret worries she may have pushed a little further past the blonde's psychological walls than she was permitted. She makes to remove her hand from Emma's leg, when delicate white fingers flutter to cover her own and clasp them briefly. Henry comes bounding back with the disheveled wad of napkins clutched tightly in both fists. He senses a change in atmosphere and observes the women curiously. After a moment's hesitation, Mary Margaret takes the tissues from him and corrals them back into the bag. Emma turns to smile at him thoughtfully and he returns it with a toothy grin.

"Will you push me on the swing? High?"

"Kid, I'll push you so high you loop-the-loop if it makes you happy."

 


	4. Oops

They stop by Granny's on the way back to Mary Margaret's with a promise of a hot drink from Emma. This turns into a double scoop root-beer float once she gets around to actually ordering, which Ruby jots down with a flourish; directing a wolfish grin at the two women and a wink down at Henry.

"You're a woman of great taste, Sheriff, shall I make that three?"

"Y-"

"-Two" Mary Margaret interjects, "And make Henry's a single scoop."

Both Henry and Emma groan at this, and Mary Margaret ushers them to a nearby booth, rolling her eyes. She points out to Emma that the boy has had more sugar in one day than he probably consumes within any other given week, which is met with a shrug but no further argument. The schoolteacher resists the oddly maternal urge to scold her housemate for her _own_ sugar consumption- wondering, as she has may times, where the hell the blonde stores the copious amounts of junk food she snacks on- as she reminds herself that Emma is a grown woman and can make such decisions for herself.

They chat amiably while demolishing the floats, Henry showing off his bubble-blowing abilities until he starts hiccuping giddily. Emma uses her straw as a scoop for the ice-cream, handing Mary Margaret the silver spoon provided with the order, and shoving the drink to the middle of the table. A little touched by the gesture, the raven-headed woman complies and takes several small bites of the cold slush that has formed at the bottom of the glass. Emma glances down at her watch before looking up to be met with wounded hazel eyes across the table.

"Just checking, kid; of all the ways to end the day, your mom on my back about my timekeeping is _not_  one I'd choose."

"It's not _fair_ though, why can't I have dinner with  _you_?"

"I'm sure you can another time, and besides,  _someone's_  got to get some vegetables down you..."

She laughs at his grimace of disgust and winks at her housemate who smiles back rather wickedly.

"Don't worry, Henry, I'll make sure Emma gets some vegetables down her too, after all, no one likes a hypocrite!"

"What's a hypocrite?"

"It's what Emma will be if she doesn't eat the spinach and broccoli I've bought for tonight."

Throwing her housemate a death glare, The Sheriff leaves a few crumpled notes on the table, waves to Ruby who returns with a mock salute, and leads them out into the street. Following the two women, Henry hesitates for a moment, before launching himself at the blonde; small hands gripping her slim shoulders, legs wrapping round her waist.

"Shit! What the _hell_!"

"Emma!"

"I mean... crap, what the heck?"

Despite her shocked outburst, her hands instinctively find the crooks of Henry's knees and hoist him up into a more stable piggy-back position. Her heart resuming it's normal pace, she continues on at a slightly burdened pace next to Mary Margaret who watches the other two out of the corner of her eye in amusement.

They walk this way the entire distance to the teacher's apartment; Emma's breath slightly ragged by the time she reaches the top of the stairs to their front door. Once inside, she finally offloads Henry, massaging her throat gingerly.

"Huh, I forgot how much I enjoy breathing..."

Henry's smile is sheepishly apologetic as he stands before her, hands stuffed in his pockets. She starts yanking at the toggles on his coat- fully aware he is capable of doing so himself, but somehow unable to resist the urge- her long hair pooling between them as she leans forward slightly to reach the lowest fastenings. Dragging the coat off him, she takes in his appearance properly for the first time since they've left the woods.

"Oh, crap..."

She inwardly scolds herself for her use of language, but then supposes if Henry was going to pick the word up from her, he would have done so already.

"Look at the state of you!"

Henry does just that, looking down at his grass-stained jeans and muddy t-shirt; currently a Hallmark-worthy match to his birth mother's own attire.

"Your mom is going to  _kill_  me!"

The blonde groans, running a fretful hand through her hair. She wets her fingers childishly with a stroke of her tongue, before crouching down and rubbing at the knee of his jeans in a futile attempt to rid them of the dirty green marks.

"You slobbering on him is hardly going to be successful, not to mention hygienic, Emma."

Mary Margaret tuts as she takes in the scene before her. Sighing, she begins rooting round in the cupboard beneath the sink for washing powder.

"There won't be time to wash your clothes and have them dry before your mom wants you home, Henry, but I'm sure Emma can drop them off tomorrow morning."

Agreeing that Regina would likely be angrier should he show up in soiled clothes, Henry begins removing his shirt; getting it momentarily stuck over his head as he comes to a new realization.

"I don't have any spares..."

"We'll find you something, kid."

Henry hands Mary Margaret his shirt, but, when his cheeks redden as he begins fumbling with the button on his pants, Emma places a hand on his shoulder and steers him towards the stairs.

"Hold your horses, lets see what we can find you before you start waltzing around in your skivvies, Lancelot."

* * *

 

Henry perches on her bed as Emma conducts a fruitless search of her rather insubstantial wardrobe; companionably letting her mutters of "no", "uh-uh" and "definitely not" wash over him. Finally, she reemerges from what is now just a heap of clothes with a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt. The shorts will be too big for him, but are fairly unisex, and the only thing she owns that isn't cut below the ankle or shaped to the ass. Similarly, the t-shirt is a simple cotton; not the  _very_  smallest she owns, but she doubts Regina will appreciate receiving her son back clad in a Hooters top she doesn't even remember acquiring. The chosen shirt depicts Harry Potter and his merry band of unfortunate companions. She reckons the fantasy theme will please her son anyway.

"Who are those people?"

"You're kidding me?"

"No..."

"Harry Potter? Jeez kid, how the hell did you miss out on that one? Hang on..."

She fumbles through one of the boxes left unpacked in the corner and throws him a tattered paperback

"Here, I'm afraid this one doesn't narrate the lives and backstory of anyone I've met so far... Apart from maybe your mother, she's a regular Voldemort... or maybe Bellatrix-"

"-who?"

"Never mind kid, just read it, it's completely up your street."

He chucks the proffered book in his rucksack and takes the clothes from Emma, padding off to the bathroom to change. When he shuffles back in- t-shirt sleeves draped like wings to his elbows and holding the shorts up around his waist- Emma greets him with a gail of laughter.

"Hey! It's not my fault your so big!"

"Oi! One should never speak that way to a lady, Henry."

"It's a good thing he was only talking to you then..."

Mary Margaret chuckles as she regards the scene from the doorway. She enters the room to pick Henry's discarded jeans up off the floor while Emma threads a belt through the loops in the shorts; her pink tongue poking out the side of her mouth. Successfully completing threading the belt through the cargos, she yanks forcefully- causing Henry to stagger and place his hands on her shoulders- and fastens the ends as tightly as possible; letting the t-shirt fall over her handy-work once secure. The shorts brush his calves in a manner eerily nostalgic of the nineties, and the shirt hangs to just above the knees.

"Well... I doubt your mom will be impressed, but at least you're clean!"

 


	5. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a bit of a spur of the moment chapter after receiving a few requests to do a 'going home' chapter. This was my first ever fic, so it was a bit weird trying to match the style of the previous chapters (which contain some truly impressive grammatical errors, I apologize!) But I had some time while waiting for my shift to start so... yes... Enjoy! And please comment :)

"What on  _earth_  happened to you?!"

The brunette cries as she pulls open the stately front door and looks her son up and down. Henry nibbles at his lip nervously while Emma places a hand on his shoulder and mutters sheepishly.

"He got a little muddy out in the woods is all. I lent him some stuff so I could wash his things... I'll bring them by tomorrow once they're dry..."

"Those were new jeans, Henry-"

"-And they'll be  _fine_  once they've gone through the wash!"

The blonde interjects, huffing irritably as dark eyes settle on her with unmasked disdain. Regina smirks as she takes in Emma's own filthy attire and continues silkily.

"You best hope you're right, dear, for if they were in a state anything like what _you're_ currently wearing, I'd say the garbage would have been a more suiting recepticale than a washing machine. Honestly, Miss Swan, do you _really_  deem it to be fitting for the Sheriff to be wandering around town in such a state? You look  _homeless_."

Emma rolls her eyes, pointing to her bug which waits patiently only a few feet away.

"Not to ruin things while you're so  _clearly_  on a roll, Madame Mayor, but I drove here. Storybrooke is safe from such horrific sights for today."

Henry doesn't quite manage to hide the giggle the Sheriff's sarcastic tone pulls from him- his attempt to cover the noise up with a hearty coughing fit fooling neither of the two women- and Regina glares at the blonde as though the boy's reaction had been entirely the younger woman's intention.

"Henry, go upstairs and change out of that  _ridiculous_  outfit."

Glancing back at Emma and giving her a sympathetic grin, he does as he's told and slips between his mother and the door to disappear upstairs. Regina clears her throat, raising an eyebrow when the blonde doesn't make her way back to her car; having thought Henry's leaving the scene to be enough of a sign of dismissal.

"Can I help you, dear?"

"Huh?"

"I suppose you're waiting for me to thank you..."

"What? No?... No, I had fun... I uh, I wouldn't mind doing this more  _often_  if you-"

"- I don't think so, Sheriff. Last night was most definitely a one-off due to unforeseen circumstances."

"Well... if you ever 'unforesee' things again... You know where I am."

"Unfortunately so."

"Oh, come on! You can't just make nice for five minutes?! I mean, I know I said I didn't need your thanks, but I was doing you a fucking  _favor_ , Regina!"

"What pleasant language; that will  _most certainly_  convince me letting you near my son is a good idea!"

"Oh, bite me!"

"I'll pass I think, dear."

The Mayor smirks as she takes in the angry flush coloring the blonde's cheeks. Fluffing her hair, she carries on in a calmer tone as Emma sighs and shoves her hands moodily into the pockets of her jeans.

"I suppose I'll have to return your clothes to you too tomorrow, Sheriff. Did you at least adhere to my rules? Bed by eight? Teeth brushed? No sugar?"

The blonde rolls her eyes and huffs a remarkably teenage ' _yes!_ ' as she conjures up the mental image of the excessively large root-beer float given to the boy at lunch.

_Well... He probably worked the energy off in the woods... It could almost just be seen as a way of refueling..._

"I'm not  _entirely_  useless, you know..."

The Mayor raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow with a small smile.

"On that I fear we'll have to agree to disagree."

"Whatever. Suit yourself."

The Sheriff shrugs, deciding to quit while they're at a stalemate, and makes her way back to her car with an exasperated sigh and flick of her hand as the brunette crosses her arms over her chest and watches her go.

"Well, have a nice night or whatever, Regina..."

"Drive safe, Sheriff."

The blonde grins despite herself, imagining the Mayor is currently entertaining all manner or horrific collisions and accidents beneath her glossy locks.

"I'll try!"

Her grin widens and Regina sighs and looks down at her nails as though inspecting for dirt in an attempt to deny the blonde the satisfaction of playing her an irritated audience.

"See you tomorrow!"

"I can't wait..."

The brunette mutters before closing the door with a shake of her head.

 


End file.
